


The Shirt Off My Back

by thursdaysfallenangel



Series: The Real Life Adventures of Misha and Jensen [6]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: A little sexual tension?, Gen, M/M, Whatever it's real life cockles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaysfallenangel/pseuds/thursdaysfallenangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just two guys, sharing a shirt. What was the big deal?</p><p>Phoenix Con, 2015. It happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shirt Off My Back

Jensen shouldn’t have been surprised when he saw Misha walk into the photo op room with the shirt he had designed on. After all, Jensen had worn Misha’s shirt to a convention once before, when he was trying to raise money for Random Acts. Jensen didn’t support Misha’s charity work publicly a whole lot, but wearing his shirt was easy and not as obvious as it could have been, so he’d done it.

So it’s not like it’s weird that Misha’s returning the favor. Jensen just hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t even dreamed of it, actually. Seeing his face printed across Misha’s chest was kind of…strange. Not in a bad way, just…he wasn’t totally sure what to think of it.

“Like my shirt?” Misha grins when he sees him. “Some guy on the street begged me to take it off of him. Gave me ten bucks even. Said the face was scaring people.”

“Ha ha,” Jensen says, shifting slightly as Misha comes closer. Fans think that personal space issue is all Cas, and maybe it was at first, but some of it must have leaked into Misha, character bleed style, because lately he’s had no problem standing about a foot from Jensen, so close he can always smell what at first he thought was aftershave but what Misha insists is the air freshener he uses on his running shoes. Because Misha has always been a little different than anyone else Jensen has ever met.

“Does that mean you support the cause?”

“Oh yeah, I’m totally into whatever this beautiful face wants me to be into,” Misha nods decisively.

Jensen tries not to blush. “Are you seriously gonna wear that for all the pictures?”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” Misha smiles and cocks his head at him. “Don’t worry, you’re still the prettiest here. I bet only half the fans get confused over who the real Jensen is.” His eyes light up in a way Jensen doesn’t like. “Let’s tweet a picture just to make sure.”

“No,” Jensen says immediately. He hasn’t had his twitter very long, but Misha’s already managed to drag him into several staged photos so he can tweet something ridiculous, and Jensen’s timeline is clogged for hours afterwards with people shouting at him. Thank god that he had finally convinced Misha, who had been howling so hard with laughter that there were tears in his eyes, to turn off his twitter notifications. It had taken a solid two hours for his phone to stop buzzing.

Misha begins to pout, which means that no matter how much Jensen protests, he’s already lost the argument. “C’mon Jen. Just one little picture?”

“Fine,” Jensen grumbles.

Misha’s face lights up and instead of coming closer for a selfie like Jensen had assumed he’d do, he hands his phone over to Chris. “Can I use your phone?”

“You have your own,” Jensen tells him, handing over his phone anyway. It’s completely ridiculous how he acts around Misha. Basically like putty in his hands.

“Look at Chris,” Misha orders, and Jensen turns to their photographer. He’s sure he looks completely put out when the picture is taken, and he has no idea what Misha was doing behind him with his phone. He’s not even sure what he’s tweeting now. He accepts his own phone back and waits for the little chirp that means Misha’s tweet went through.

_I met[@jensenackles](https://twitter.com/JensenAckles) and I totally fangirled. I'm so embarrassed._

“Wow,” Jensen says.

Misha ignores him. “Hey, how much longer does your shirt have to sell?”

“Four days, I think,” Jensen replies. “But we’ve already sold more than our goal, which is great.”

“Not good enough,” Misha informs him. “You need to sell more than more of your goal, and then it’ll be fantastic. Drown the world in charity, Jensen. Dress it in your face.”

Jensen laughs. “How am I supposed to do that?”

Misha bites his lip. “You probably sold the most at the very beginning, when you tweeted a picture of you in the shirt, right?”

“Right,” Jensen says slowly, knowing exactly where this is going. “I don’t have it with me though.”

Misha shrugs. “Wear mine,” he suggests, pulling it over his head.

Jensen stares at him. Misha isn’t wearing an undershirt, his chest now bare for all the world (or at least Jensen and Chris) to see. Sometimes Jensen forgot how fit Misha was; he always saw him in his bulky Cas get up, the shapeless tan trenchcoat giving no hint to the lean muscle underneath. It was definitely on display now.

Jensen’s not sure how long he stared, but by Misha’s face when he finally looked up and the glint in his eye, it was just this side of too long.

“Thanks,” he says, wondering when his voice got so fucking gruff. He unbuttons his own shirt, which does reveal an undershirt, but Misha is a shirt size smaller than him, and he too is forced to bear his chest in order to get the thing over his body.

It’s a shade too tight, and warm from Misha’s body heat. Misha grins at him. “I’ll take the picture,” he volunteers, grabbing Jensen’s phone from where he set it down.

Jensen wishes he would put a shirt on already.

Misha quickly snaps the picture, handing the phone back to Jensen, who writes the most straightforward tweet possible. When he looks up again, Misha is wearing his flannel overshirt, the top two buttons undone just enough for Jensen to know he’s still bare-chested underneath, Jensen’s undershirt wadded up and thrown into some corner.

“You should keep wearing that for the photo ops, get some more publicity,” Misha tells him.

Jensen nods slowly, not sure he trusts himself to say anything. He’d wanted Misha to put a shirt on, but now he’s not so sure. If he goes around the rest of the day looking the way he does in Jensen’s flannel, it may kill him.

Then again, if Misha wants to wear the damn thing for the rest of his life, he thinks he’d be fine with that too.


End file.
